


Scraps

by Reavski



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, Scraps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reavski/pseuds/Reavski
Summary: Scraps and half-finished shorts unlikely to see continuation (unless prompted). Summaries of contents and/or links in individual chapters.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Shameimaru Aya Makes a Trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aya Shameimaru, journalist, Crow Tengu proud, is called on to attend a centennial summit of her race and its ancient enemies, the Oni. Things go differently than expected for the all-female Tengu party, including the mature Lady Tenma, though not at all to their dislike.

The incumbent Lord Tenma, a well-endowed Tengu woman named Ainii, was definitely, unmistakably getting fucked.

Aya Shameimaru, the journalist, sat at the opulent table in the gathering longhouse of the Tengu town, staring and stewing in equal divisions. There weren’t two ways to spin it. Ainii, the august, silvery blonde who’d opened the evening with dulcet words of tolerance, was now pink of face – cackling and making immature comments at the huge Oni envoy on whose lap she was perched. And the Oni, whose name Aya had consigned to wilful ignorance, was gripping her hips, those paddle hands stuffed inside the slits in Ainii’s orthodox Tengu garb. Much gripping was in progress, because the Lord Tenma was plump and mature – not to say overripe – with two childbirths and as many political marriages behind her. And there were comments in profusion, because the mushroom rice wine the Oni had brought in by the caskful from their underground Capital kicked like a horse slated for a rectal exam.

Aya’d need to strangle her pride to admit which of them was pulling ahead in the archetypal Tengu-contra-Oni competition, but she hadn’t to at all in order to tell they had moved their ancient, cross-racial rivalry elsewhere. Truth to write, Ainii and the head Oni weren’t painting a subtle picture. The bountiful Tengu matron’s waist swayed with sinuous grace atop the Oni diplomat’s lap, whose sleazy grin belonged rather in a whorehouse than an assembly hall. He was relaying or, more to the thrust, re-grunting to his tenuous ally the story of one Yuugi Hoshiguma’s rise to tacit fiefdom in the Underworld – but it hadn’t to be corroborated by anything else that his attention, too, was above all on Ainii’s sensual motions. The grabby hands and strained pauses whenever the Tengu woman’s butt was driven back into him was evidence enough. There was zero question in Aya’s foggy mind that the Lord Tenma’s seasoned pussy was still in the midst of heated, womb-deep negotiations with the Oni’s massive, vein-streaked cock.

There was none – because she’d _seen them_ mount.

Once the alcohol had broken down the wary attitudes and conversation had grown rife around the table, it hadn’t taken ten minutes’ back-and-forth for the leaders to revert to their title-less selves and begin egging each other on. The Oni had speculated aloud on Ainii’s marriages; the Lord Tenma had countered with an estimation of his own wife’s mileage. He’d riposted by complimenting the Wolf Tengu guards on their “ass-ets;” she’d commended _his_ entourage on making for pretty barrel ornaments. He’d called her an “unsexy, worn stick.” She’d said he was a “heap of marinaded man-meat.” He’d dared her to get her “baby ass” up on his lap. She’d challenged him not to enjoy it too much.

And that’d been when Aya, who, as a Crow Tengu, had been ordained to serve as the talks’ transcriber, had put her pen and writing pad down. As good go to a pothouse on a week-end night. And as good quaff from her own, previously untouched flagon if the “talks” were to devolve into a regular piss-up after all. _Oni!_ she’d huff inside. _Tengu!_ she’d add at the sight of the Wolf Guard around the hall laying their weapons aside and taking up proffered cups. And then she’d call for another round.

Time had become an uncertainty – and verticality something of a supposition – by when her avid, corvid eyes picked out suspect activity on the opposite side of the table. The Lord Tenma, blushed by then a juvenile pink, had been fidgeting on the affable Oni envoy’s lap: fussing with something around her seat which, ostensibly, was causing her a measure of discomfort. It’d been the Oni himself, however, who’d had Aya’s ears pricked up and agog. A brutish urge on his crimson, stone pit face, he had been spurring the restless Tengu lady on.

What Aya had heard next had raised the hairs on her nape… and made _the rest_ of her neck atingle with rogue sensation.

“ _C’mon,_ ” the Oni had goaded. “C’mon, _you slut_. Y’ know you want this. When again will y’ get the chance? We’re all big, bloody friends tonight, aye? Show me how friendly y’ are down there. C’mon.”

A shadow of hunger and yearning and helpless shame had passed across Ainii’s laugh-lined features… before, not very furtively, the ruler of the Tengu had risen on her knees to hover above the Oni diplomat’s lap.

Coincidentally, Aya Shameimaru’s pen had chosen right then to roll to the floor. Coincidentally, the reporter Crow Tengu had dived under the table after her important tool of trade.

Coincidentally, her eyes had fallen right on where the Oni had been tucking his loincloth up to free his enormous, brick-red erection.

Ten inches long and knobby as a cudgel, the obscene cock had stood tall between the kneeling Ainii’s thighs, already slavering for the impending taste of its ancient enemy’s precious place. The stench of the Oni’s precum had been so strong, so potent, so _virile_ that, two metres away, Aya’s nose had wrinkled in disgusted relish. The horny, horned barbarian had switched the startlingly dexterous fingers to the tails of the Lord Tenma’s office garb, which he’d parted for access to the Tengu lady’s modest _fundoshi_. That, too, had then been drawn aside… and Ainii’s neglected, yet no less eager pussy had slid into view. Unshaved, unkempt, with its dark, frilly labia and prominent clit, it’d been almost a match for the Oni’s beastly Onihood.

The Underworld’s vulgar envoy had made a grab for the Tengu’s bared, scruffy groin. Ainii’s smaller, white hands had barred the attempt off, however… only, then, to make it herself and spread her glazed, puffy petals as wide as they’d stretched. Arousal had seeped from her hungry, gaping depths, dribbling down onto the Oni’s ready and waiting cock – intimating to Aya that, perhaps even ahead this development, the granite-faced demon hadn’t been keeping those undiplomatic fingers to himself at all.

At some unseen enticement, he’d steadied his shaft by the meaty base and aimed its blunt tip at Ainii’s outspread, drooling entrance. Slowly, slowly, the incumbent Lord Tenma had lowered her hips until her impatient pussy had been plugged up – her florid labia wrapped flush around the Oni’s glans and peeling the foreskin back from its fat girth. The two officials had sneered and swapped insults up above while, down below and out of sight, more and more of the Oni’s firm, red cock had passed between the Tengu lady’s indiscriminate pussy lips. Inch by gnarly inch, the boorish Oni envoy’s tool had vanished inside the most distinguished, wisest and elevated of the Tengu – scrubbed and molested all along by her slippery, well-experienced folds. Ainii’s waist had sunk lower and lower, her pale thighs trembling the whole way. Still, she’d given her opponent no quarter: taking the Oni’s hard cock deeper and deeper yet… till her steamy crotch had been resting on his bald, orange-sized scrotum and his bare tip had been pressed against a place no Oni should ever have touched.

Aware beneath the alcoholic buzz that she’d rue it later, Aya had whipped out her camera and snapped a picture proof of the Lord Tenma’s lewd, interracial liaison with the Tengu’s oldest enemy. And then, because she’d known herself better than to wait and see how messy an Oni’s cock would look after a stint with a Tengu’s moist, horny pussy, she’d clambered back up to a proper sit over her flagon. Neither Ainii nor her Oni mate had spared the clumsy Crow Tengu a second – or even a first – glance. There hadn’t been a hint on their faces, in fact, of the taboo being perpetrated under the Lord Tenma’s bellybutton.

Now, an hour later or near as not to matter, they were _still fucking._ And Aya had sat, docile as seldom before, watching the two officials for more and more blatant tells of the promiscuous, public sex happening just out of view. Worse, because she’d had it on the Oni’s savage expressions and feral growls that he’d come twice at the least already: never pulling out, pumping his incompatible seed up into the Tengu matron’s poor, deceived womb. Aya could merely wonder how the Lord Tenma intended to scrape it all out afterwards. Or whether it _truly was_ incompatible…

It should’ve been an outrage. The headlines should’ve been writing themselves. Something about widows and a “big-bellied alliance” and… nothing. Aya’s pen wasn’t cooperative. On the contrary: the longer she ogled the flushed, copulating elders, the more galling she found this reputation of hers that’d stayed the other Oni from soliciting her with the same. And they damned would have but for it. Aya had only to tear her gaze from Ainii’s gently bouncing chest and look around the gathering hall for plenty of affirmation.

The “talks” were no more. An alcohol-fuelled _orgy_ had barged into their place. There, a handful of seats down, a bespectacled Tengu clerk was being reamed back and front by a pair of twin, crimson giants. There, a craggier-than-most Oni was in the midst of spanking, doggy-style sex with a Wolf Guard so young she may as good have been his granddaughter. There, someone whom Aya recognised over-late as that stiff-fur, Momiji, was performing a double titfuck on an elated Oni porter alongside an equally stacked and tiddly colleague. Another silver-maned Guard was servicing three of the horned guests at once: bucking her hips atop one, deepthroating the other and furiously jerking off the last. There was a round of raucous, insensate laughter as the Oni porter came so hard between Momiji’s plush tits that the first spurt of his seed splattered the hall’s low ceiling.

Aya screwed the zoom on her camera’s tube lens and caught a shot of the dogged Wolf Guard lapping creamy jizz from her own breasts. This’d do nicely for a long Winter evening…

The thought curdled in the alcoholic bath between her ears. Once more, her misgivings bubbled up to the surface. Wasn’t all this… _wrong?_ Tengu quaffing, laughing and _frolicking_ without a care with their ancient quarries…? The answer to that, said Aya’s integrity, was an objective no. It’d been endorsed by the Lord Tenma, whose word stood for righteousness in the Tengu code… even if the same Lord Tenma’s womb, which had birthed two prodigious Tengu daughters, was now full of some Oni plebe’s spunk. It’d been Ainii, whose rule had been described in so-called “quarters” as matriarchal, who’d writ for an all-female retinue to receive the Underworld’s diplomatic party. The names hadn’t been cherry-picked but neither were they incidental; a reporter needed but squint to see the invited Tengu were either young, libertine or both.

 _Other_ than the one Crow Tengu in the room. The officious snoop. The pen-and-pad. Aya Shameimaru.

The one solace in it, Aya consoled itself, was that Hatate wasn’t here. A twin-tailed adolescent with groomed wings and a penchant for miniskirts could’ve driven the Oni to fight to knock her up. A part of Aya wished she could’ve spectated just such a thing. Another made her want to put her own hair up in bunches.

She scuffed away from the table and shinnied to her feet.

“ _Nn._ Aya, child?”

The mellow tones of the Lord Tenma’s voice froze the Crow Tengu to the spot. Afterwise, anyway, her sensibilities had redacted the lead-in moan. At the radiant Lord Tenma’s back, her Oni paramour’s face set into a slack-jawed grimace. Aya peeked down in time to spy those crimson, battering-ram fists curl tight – then _punch_ the floor on either side of his and Ainii’s shared seat. The realisation was an anxious flutter down in her abdomen. He was coming. Again. In front of her stunned eyes, an uncultured fiend from some dank hole in the mountainside was defiling the Lord Tenma’s noble womb with a third load of his smelly, animal sperm. The sheer chance it could’ve been her abrupt rising that’d startled the beast over the edge made the insides of Aya’s thighs _itch._

“A—A,” she stuttered. Then swallowed. “Air, my Lord Tenma. It has gotten—” Her gaze darted lengthwise the orgiastic scene. Momiji was now on the ground, pinned in a fierce mating press by the very Oni porter she’d shamed, her sharp-nailed feet thrashing in the air to general merriment. “… Stale,” she decided. “It has gotten stale in here, my Lord Tenma. I am walking outdoors for fresh air.”

“So be it,” granted Ainii. The Oni diplomat twitched and rasped at her back her as his crude cock was milked inside the Tengu matron’s debased pussy. “Only, do not you go and run off, child,” cautioned the elder Tengu. “You are an important – _Great Mountain, still not finished?_ – an important and imperative element of these talks. Are we in accord, Aya, heart?”

Aya strove to curtsy. She felt an impertinent fool instead. “Yes, my Lord Tenma. I shan’t, my Lord Tenma. It is but a breather. Please, go easy on our peers in the meanwhile.”

Ainii indicated with a maternal smile that no red-skinned lout who’d talked an older lady into sex and presumed to come thrice before she could was to be gone easy on.

Aya shuffled on for the courtyard exit and the blessed Winter chill outside. An attempt had been made, not too successfully, _not_ to gawk at the busty Lord Tenma being pushed over the table and mounted doggy-style – before the Crow Tengu shut the door on the madhouse within. That was a powerful word, told Aya’s fervently clacking internal typewriter. _Madhouse in the Auditorium: Tengu and Oni Locked in Wicked Coitus!_ All of them to the man and woman – except yours truly, the pure and honest Shameimaru.

In the gathering house’s courtyard, Tengu of bygone sensibilities had arrayed a garden of gentle mounds and marble stone. Meant to sup moonlight and dazzle soft-witted visitants in turn, _meaning_ was most it did those days.

Marring that lofty intent was an Oni sucking on a sailor’s pipe by the inner patio’s edge. Smoke wisped away into the starry night.

Aya made notes. It was her job. She made a mental one firstly of the Oni’s loathsome species. She made another of his mangled, oxen horns. And then a third of its sequined, royal purple garb upon which, in golden runes, embroidered was the word: _Administrator._ A pair of jutting brows and a knobby nose-bridge wrinkled at Aya’s unsolicited appearance. The Oni emptied his pipe onto the garden’s pristine stones. Aya noted this also.

“Something not to your like, pretty bird?” was its – his – rumbled question.

 _You,_ thought Aya. “You,” spoke the alcohol. “A lot besides,” added volition. “What are you out here for?”

The Oni ground his tusked jaw in wonderment. “Solitude,” he said.

“Why’re you unaccompanied? This is Tengu territory.”

“ _Solitude,_ ” he repeated. “Company’d defeat the purpose.”

Aya felt her colour rise. “No girl your type indoors, huh?”

“Aah. There is your true answer.”

The Oni snapped on the cap of and pocketed the pipe, righting up. Gods of the Mountain, but he was a giant. The stately clothing had done its work, masking the real size of his slumped shoulders; now, it strained to contain his musclebound chest as it inflated in the presence of a ranking Tengu… or, the alcohol in Aya’s head appended, that of an attractive female. His face was a crag of greyed scars and laugh-lines; his fists were mauls of stone-rending, crimson flesh, and his horns… those by themselves were an unlettered record of warfare. The Oni… this “Administrator,” however idiosyncratic, was age-bitten, walking _history._ Aya’s nose perked up at the scent of scoop floating above the tobacco’s. She’d almost not noticed or minded the pheromone-reek of the Oni’s barbarous, masculine body over all.

The things he might tell her! The ideas were aswirl between Aya’s ears. _Old Wounds Reopeneth: Confessions of an Enemy!_ This was journalism. This was _truth._ She but had to squeeze it out. There were lodgings in the longhouse: rooms as private as you like, where a Crow Tengu may do more than squeezing undisrupted…

* * *


	2. Daiki Makes a Trade (with Doremy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfinished sequel to [Kishin Sagume Makes-](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27711158) & [Has Made a Trade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27711253). The Moon rabbit in (immoral) service to Sagume has an encounter with the goddess’s allied dream daemon, Doremy.

The Moon rabbit Daiki _did not_ wake up. That was the first tell something was very off.

To wake as a Moon rabbit, one of the antecedent race, was an involved and, at times, irritative experience. Not, even if many would speculate otherwise, for each day of a Moon rabbit’s life was sacrificed to the betterment of those who enslaved them. That might have held true millennia ago: when the wounds were sore, the ancestral memories fresh in the rabbits’ minds. In bright modernity, each slave was furtively pushed to choose their own, personal Goal. An art, craft or benefit they would bear on beside the comfort of their immaculate, Lunar Lords. From music to masonry; from victuals through sex. All slaves lived out their days in betterment of their masters’… but also, in no small measure, for themselves.

To wake as a Moon rabbit therefore was a venture for entirely another cause. The Mesh. The invisible noosphere which married all members of the antecedent race in a psychic lattice of wisdom, knowledge and awareness. No rabbit lived who hadn’t at least been linked to the Mesh; the connection was enforced at birth and reinforced later on. A device of control and freedom at once, the link may have been prescribed… but the sharing was voluntary. A servant attending a particular Lord, for instance, could emit a query for that Lord’s preferences or quirks, and such would be instantly perceived by any other rabbit relevant to the question. Those could then choose to psychically burst their knowledge over the long wave or even speak to the sender’s mind directly. A handful of Moon rabbits did exist in the Capital whose sole duty was to store – and pass on – those collective learnings. Often, it was those repositories – too old usually for other tasks and so always at the ready – whence the answer could first be expected. It spared the working adults the distraction contingent in replying – and gave those striplings taking their first, shaky steps in life someone to turn to with even the inanest of questions. The Mesh was a safety net wherein no rabbit was ever left lost for want of company, insight or know-how.

It was also one _full of noise_ : echoing queries, psychic back-and-forth, and the occasional bit of overall chaos when some prankster wondered aloud about everyone’s favourite foods.

And waking up to _that_ in the wee hours of the morning could take the calmest rabbit for a ride.

For that reason, there were times when a Moon rabbit was permitted to disengage from the Mesh. For one, preceding sleep: so that their rest was undisturbed, and their dreaming self wouldn’t flood the noosphere with random, subconscious gibberish. In injury or as punishment, for another – for easily guessable reasons. And, lastly, for even more obvious ones… when the rabbits were called on to attend to their Lunar Lords in their bedchambers and boudoirs.

Hence why Daiki, who had found only lately about the last, had taken since to severing himself from his kin’s psychic unity nearer afternoons than evenings. It’d been enough embarrassing to once hear a placid, elderly voice in his head explain, in response to an inadvertent thought, that a Moon rabbit could not, in fact, impregnate a Lunar Lord; anyway, Daiki had no intention of sharing his particular Lord’s secrets with anyone. Or what her tinny voice sounded like when she hazarded to speak. Or what her body looked like in a sheer negligee. Or, for that matter, out of it. Never mind the vulgar configurations in which she enjoyed to put it – often right up to or atop Daiki’s own.

No. The Moon rabbit Daiki would die ahead he risked giving away the fact that Kishin Sagume – the beloved, silent goddess – was growing ever so skilled at giving slow, gentle, edging blowjobs. That was for Daiki’s (and his dick’s) exclusive information. And it was precisely why giving up, then returning to the Mesh in the morning, had been an exercise in self-control for the young, self-conscious Moon rabbit. The desire to brag was a tireless, creeping enemy.

Now, however, the rabbit noosphere was absolutely mute. And that was queerer than anything Daiki may or may not have experienced in Lady Sagume’s service.

As though but now remembering what they were meant for, Daiki’s rabbit eyes were drawn downwards, where his neat shirt and evening slacks were still being plainly worn… despite him plainly taking them off to have sex with Lady Sagume in the bath last night. That memory was not in any doubt; Daiki hadn’t at all to strain his imagination to recall the sight of the naked goddess with her back to the bathroom wall: one leg up, her single wing flat against the marble tiles beside her white shoulder. In no innocent detail, Daiki remembered the face Lady Sagume had made when he’d pushed his stiff manhood inside her. Those pearly teeth squeezing down on her pink bottom lip; those secretive, carmine eyes rolling slightly up. A warm blush under her perfect cheeks. The pressure of her soft, motherly breasts squished against his own, work-hardened chest. The texture of her smooth, lathered-up skin. The knee-melting heat of her insides.

Daiki would chop off his own ears ahead he forgot what it felt like to hilt himself inside the most beautiful, most cherished woman on the Moon while she struggled to keep in her sexy moans. He would do that… lest his kinsmen did it themselves once they found out, and threw his manhood into the bargain.

The young Moon rabbit sat up, realising – quite over-late – that he had, as a matter of fact, been lying down on _some sort_ of bed. Some sort resolved to become definite once Daiki peeked about, ascertaining his surroundings. He was no longer in his servant’s room in Lady Sagume’s extensive chambers in the upper strata of the Lunar Palace; rooms, as a rule, had a ceiling and quartet of walls at the minimum. Somehow, somewise, this place had no floor, either. To either side of the bed (which, Daiki could swear, though it had been only a generic bed moments before, now seemed strikingly close to his own) spread an infinite, ink-black expanse: like the star-lit well of the cosmos. That it was not the cosmos Daiki had known was told by the lines: criss-crossing streaks of vivid, violet energy, threaded through the void… for no apparent purpose but to give it a semblance of enclosure. A direction. Four sides, an up… and a down.

No sooner had the Moon rabbit figured this out than he felt the lurch of gravity according itself with his findings. The bed thumped down onto something that could have been a floor… if, again, space could have those. Clearly, this region of it cared little for convention. And then, once horizontality had entered the picture, the Moon rabbit Daiki was at last able to take proper stock of his surrounds.

And what those contained proved somehow a far wilder fantasy than any within the last handful of weeks.

There, a modest distance from the bed, set out atop nothing except the vacuum of space, a large, antique coffee table stood: laden under a veritable _mountain_ of platters and bowls, salvers and trays, all full to brim of varicoloured sweets. A silver urn sat, steaming, among this motley, porcelain kingdom; and paying court to its sibling cups was a pair of women – neither any less odd than the scene on which Daiki had patently intruded.

Of these, one was familiar to him; for even if the outline of her hair, shoulders and chest hadn’t been enough to gun his memory, then the singular, snow-white wing, draped over the tall backrest of the chair, would have been. Lady Sagume’s long feathers _glowed_ against the inky backdrop of the place – wherever _the place_ was; and Daiki found a bolus of somewhat forgotten awe to clog up his wits at the sight. How easy it had been to skim, when she had been naked, flushed and panting, over what Lady Sagume really was. A Lunar Sage. A _goddess._ A true, unalloyed divinity: born of the barren sands of the Moon, untainted by life’s impurities. And he, a lowly Moon rabbit with no claim or status, had been doing his damnedest every night to get the immaculate woman pregnant.

If ever there had been a moment Daiki felt guilty for fucking his kin’s beloved, one-winged goddess… it was now. Though it was very brief.

Clipped, in fact, even briefer by the _other_ woman at the table. All taupe and creamy whites, with an oversized, crimson nightcap as long as the seat of her chair. A simple, round capelet veiled the woman’s bust… which, Daiki noted with some digression, was copious enough to rest on the tabletop like one more additional treat. From her collar to the rim of her dress, the woman was festooned with fuzzy, likewise white and greyish globes, which put the Moon rabbit in mind of his own, round bunny tail. Her feet were nude, slim and cute – and wagged back and forth under the table while the woman watched Lady Sagume daintily cut and spoon a slice of fantastically overwrought, cherry cake into her mouth.

As though attention was her honey, and she a hungry moth, the woman’s navy-blue eyes fluttered away from the one-winged goddess to pin the Moon rabbit boy still perched atop the landed bed. At once, and for no discernible reason, her lips stretched into a complacent smile.

“Aah—” she cooed, her voice flowing and saccharine. “At last, here you are. I _must_ say, you have kept us; I’d imagined you’d be along sooner. Tell me – too much coffee before bed? Hmm? Too excited for tomorrow? Something else busying you, perhaps…?”

Daiki’s mouth snapped open to deny anything and everything alleged – before, anyway, the Moon rabbit recognised he was getting snared. The woman’s smile widened even so, despite the lack of a catch; and she looked on, unconcerned, how the rabbit boy swung his legs off the side of the bed and hopped up to his feet. Lady Sagume, hitherto busy at her cake, had, by now, also noticed his… _arrival_ ; and she watched him, likewise, in her customary quiet. There was no surprise, or even unease, evident anywhere on the goddess’s beautiful face – and it was that, above anything else, which made Daiki’s alarm wane to a less neck-stiffening level. If Lady Sagume saw nothing outrageous in their current situation, then, chances were, it wasn’t. Daiki both could and _had_ matched her calm in more demanding company.

Although, _how demanding_ this one would prove was yet to hint itself.

Almost an echo to that thought, the fuzzball woman’s lips took on an even slyer curve.

“So skittish,” she tut-tutted. “My, my. And were not you Moon rabbits in direct helotry to your Lunarian lords supposed to be more… daring? In fact, I have heard so many… _bolder_ things said of you. My disenchantment is palpable.”

Daiki’s ruby eyes narrowed at the words… even if he did set his back straighter. “I’m,” he explained, “confused. That is all, Lady… um?”

“Lady _Doremy,_ ” obliged Lady Doremy, with a crossing of her legs beneath her dress. “Lady Doremy Sweet: Ruler of Dreams, Eater of Nightmares, Bestower of – et caetera, et caetera. In your dreams, I may be Master, Queen, _Owner_ … or just Doremy, if you so wish. I have been called all.”

“Then, Lady Doremy,” said Daiki. “This is… a dream?”

“The dream- _world_ ,” corrected the Bestower of et caetera. “It is the region of the dream-world that _is now_ your dream, courtesy of you at last consenting to join us. I warn you, however, I remain sovereign, even here. If you raise your mind against me, I shall destroy you. And you shall be cast screaming back to your bland world sooner than you may cry, ‘Mercy, Lady Doremy! Mercy!’ Tragic, wouldn’t that be?” Ignoring her own levity (was it?), the woman shrugged her laden shoulders. “Mostly, however, I shall be very put out with you. And I do not enjoy being put out. Have it, bunny boy?”

Daiki, who had by now arrived at Lady Doremy’s seat, swallowed down a knot of nervousness. Tall though he was (taller, anyhow, than Lady Sagume, who was no tiny doe herself), still the self-professed Ruler of Dreams seemed to loom over him. Or _up at him,_ as it were. The rubies of the Moon rabbit’s eyes were no match for the fathomless sapphires of Lady Doremy’s; and they fled from her piercing gaze, stumbling down the front of her outlandish dress.

Soft. Somehow, the word popped to the surface of Daiki’s thoughts, and kept all others at want of air. Close up, below her condescending smile, Lady Doremy was all fluff and down. Where Daiki had imagined the dress she wore was rather loose and voluminous, he found now the plump curves and doughy womanhood were all, in fact, Lady Doremy. The cloth simply wrapped her as best it could. The brown capelet around her shoulders was covered in barely perceptible peach fuzz – which, unaccountably, put the Moon rabbit in mind of petting; and the breasts it draped from above…

… Lady Doremy’s breasts were huge, round, and Daiki’s hands _itched_ to squeeze them. Again and again; for hours and hours. And then, once their softness had been amply ascertained, he wanted to ask the buxom woman to rest them in his lap and give him a nice, slow, downy titjob. The like Lady Sagume gave him – usually in the bath, where she could freely slather her breasts in scented massage oil precluding it making a mess of her clothes. Lady Sagume’s bust, it had to be noted, was nothing short of sensational; whether she wished to smother the Moon rabbit’s dick whole in her slippery valley, or to have its tip poke out so she may suck the pre-cum out of it, she may do so with a simple adjustment of her hold. An unspoken – if plain – favourite technique of hers was to hug her arms around her bare breasts, while her rabbit servant thrust himself up between them from below. Then, once he was close to erupting, she would loosen the hold so that his warm sperm could spurt all over her perfect chest and face. Where it went from there depended; either Daiki watched, with his dick throbbing between her plush mounds, as his goddess scooped up his seed onto her fingers and licked it up, or he moved on to have sex with her breasts in another position without giving her the time to clean up. _Versatility._ That was the name of the game for Lady Sagume’s breasts… which both she and Daiki played at with relish.

With Lady Doremy’s, the rabbit boy felt, his manhood would stand no such chance. There was no way – not on the Moon, nor the dream-world nor elsewhere – simply _none_ , that his dick could poke out of _these_ plump mounds, no matter the angle. They would swamp it, swallow it whole; and the rabbit boy would never see his little friend again until he’d had his orgasm and Lady Doremy spread her breasts out to show off the sloppy aftermath. That was not, inherently, a bad picture. No. It was, inherently, an amazing picture; and Daiki’s trousers grew considerably more crowded at the added thought of those sapphire eyes staring up at him as she fucked his hard dick with those giant tits.

“ _Aah._ Now _this_ is more like what I heard.”

The Moon rabbit extracted his imagination from Lady Doremy’s bust at the sound of her oversweet reproach. A wash of fear spilled over his awkward arousal; and yet, the plump, sapphire-eyed woman had her gaze trained square on his reddening face… rather than the tent being pitched under his belt. Daiki, panicking, peeked back at his nearby mistress; still, where Lady Sagume _was_ paying token attention to his fumbling, she seemed intent on having him discharge the situation by himself.

And there was plenty to discharge. It’d not been often that Daiki had fantasised about fucking women he barely knew; truthfully, he hadn’t done so once since he had first passed close by Lady Sagume in the cramped halls of the rabbits’ casern. All at once then, he’d wanted to bed the quiet goddess. The suggestion of her thighs flashing between the tails of her dress. The scent of her ripe, mature body. The strained tightness around her chest. None of these would consent to leave his head for weeks afterwards. Until a series of daring, desperate pranks. Until a cascade of unlikely events, which would culminate in him abducting a pair of Lady Sagume’s panties and the goddess bargaining for their return with her throat pressed against the tip of his dick. And then, later at night, doing much the same with her pure, untarnished womb.

Never ahead (or after) Lady Sagume had the rabbit boy gazed upon a woman and immediately wished to cram his erection balls-deep up her cleavage. Somehow, Lady Doremy’s lavish curves had broken that veritable streak. Meaning to cool his overheating brain, Daiki sucked in a draft of the dream-world’s non-air. That would prove his second mistake in as many minutes. For the smiling Lady Doremy did not merely _look_ fuckable…

… She _smelled it,_ as well.

A sweet, unreal aroma hung about the woman’s fluffy figure: a cloying mixture of sugar, pheromones and, ludicrously, a trace hint of the traditional _mochi_ candy of the antecedent race. Quite by itself, Daiki’s surprised, aroused mind wondered if she would _taste_ likewise. He imagined having a deep, investigative kiss with the dreamy woman. He pictured sliding his tongue out of her mouth, grasping her by the impossibly blue hair… and then forcing her down – down and down – until those sugary lips were wrapped around the base of his erect penis and her sweet saliva was trickling down his scrotum. He wanted to replace the cloying scent of her breath with that of his fresh cum.

“Dream-world to the Moon, bunny boy. Up here. Up, up, up.”

Once more, the Moon rabbit tore his horny attention from Lady Doremy’s soft, inviting bits. The Ruler of Dreams wore a benign, forbearing face, as if it were a normal occurrence for boys who met her to pop full, unabashed hard-ons. There was a knowing glint in her shrewd eyes as she narrowed them up at the helpless Daiki. Then, with slow, sensual deliberation, she walked them down his neck, chest, navel… all the way to the fierce bulge in his trousers. Seeing no other recourse but pretence, Daiki squared his back and pushed himself straighter for inspection. Audacity bore its fruit; and come the end of the minute, Lady Doremy returned her indulgent gaze to Daiki’s face. The face was redder than it had been when Lady Sagume had first lifted her skirt for him in his billet; but Daiki had been in enough perverse scenarios by now to keep his mouth drawn into a severe line.

The seriousness of a proper Moon rabbit servant must have been mighty amusing to the Ruler of Dreams, who laughed it up and down and every which way in a soft, silvern voice.

“What a delightful little thing you are,” Lady Doremy marvelled, and Daiki had to wonder which she had meant: him or his companion below. “And _every inch_ as plucky as I was told,” she added, and the rabbit boy wondered harder. “We are off to a glowing relationship tonight, I feature. With that in mind, it is so nice to finally meet you, Moon rabbit Daiki. It has been a while coming, and I am glad to at last lay my eyes on you in person. I must admit, too… what a sight.”

“How—” Daiki asked, grappling with his woozy head, “How is it that… you know who I am, Lady Doremy?”

The dreamy woman fanned a hand with unconcern. “Your owner and I are long friends. Well… less friends,” she conceded. “Allies. Sisters in arms – once. To be quite on the nose, I find her entertaining to guest, and she, for reasons unfathomable, seems to enjoy being guested. Sagu— ah, _Lady_ Sagume, see, has been keeping me conversant with the goings-on in your dull, grey Capital. Which fairly included some revolutionary changes to her own daily routine. Much, much to do with a certain indentured bunny boy, if we go by volume of what she tells. And she has told me _oodles._ ”

“… All good, I hope?” said Daiki, his brain skimming over the gross impossibility of Lady Sagume speaking more than one oodle at a time.

Lady Doremy’s eyes bored into his, and it felt as though the curvaceous woman were suddenly atop him, crushing the air from his lungs. A wrecking ball of fresh arousal punched into his belly – restoring him to full, timber-hard mast down in his trousers. When the sly Ruler of Dreams deigned to reply, her self-satisfied smile could have meant _anything._

Contrary, on the whole, to the way she then ran her smooth, wet tongue all across her lips.

“… Only _the best,_ ” she assured him – in a tone that would have made a bedroom blush. At least, it made Daiki – to the roots of his hairs.

And it was then – just when the Moon rabbit’s desire had begun to boil over, and he was the closest to blurting out how sexy Lady Doremy was – that something else overhauled him in that regard. A low, gurgling whistle broke out someplace on the treat-laden table, coming – Daiki found once he sought it out – from an antique, brass kettle dangled from a hook over a smouldering candle-stump. At his side, the Ruler of Dreams stirred rather appropriately – as if out of a dream.

“Ah—” she half-exclaimed. “I was waiting for that, huh. Would you kindly, bunny boy? My cup’s all set; only pour the water in, and bring it here. Show me that fabled rabbit quickness, hmm?”

With a reel of odd, disappointed relief, the Moon rabbit eked out a shallow bow, and shuffled off to his ordained task. Lady Doremy’s cup, as promised, turned up from among the myriad of cake-and-sweet-filled trays – already fitted with a tea infuser in the shape of a small, steel egg. Daiki picked the kettle up from its hook, and poured the piping water into the cup: evenly, from two hand-spans or so above to shift the temperature – exactly how Lady Sagume had taught him in his beginning days as her attendant.

That same Lady Sagume was, Daiki confirmed with a sidelong peek, still raining all her available attention upon the undiminishing pile of cherry cake before her. That none was spared for the poor Moon rabbit was, all in all, nothing out of the usual. Lady Sagume and her servant had maintained a veneer of an inoffensive, master-slave relationship _everywhere_ outside the goddess’s bedroom. The one instance they had broken this rule – at one of the officialdom’s public hearings, where they had stood at the back of the room and Daiki had kept his Lady entertained by furtively plunging his fingers in and out of her drenched privates from behind until she’d quietly come on his hand – had been hell on his nerves, and not at all his idea. And though Lady Sagume might have apologised afterwards – in a wordless and rather enjoyable way – for exposing her good servant to the risk, that had been their first and last such stunt while others were close nearby.

Such as they were now – self-avowed allies or not.

As Daiki tapped out the one hundred and eighty seconds requisite for the tea to steep properly, he had ample time to wrest with the inopportune fact that he was more turned on than he had ever managed for very long. The thought alone of approaching the plump Lady Doremy again had his dick throbbing happily inside his trousers. His head was swimming from mere _traces_ of her sweet scent that his keen, rabbit nose was picking out from afar. Alluring as Lady Sagume had always been, few of the things she had done had sent the Moon rabbit into such overpowering rut as he was fast tumbling into now. If this here _was_ but a dream – and, on decent authority, it was – then Daiki wished for nothing more than to wake up, slip into Lady Sagume’s chambers, and beg her for help with his hard, stubborn problem. Or, if the goddess refused to leave the wealth of cherry cake behind, then to borrow her thighs – or her breasts – and take care of it by himself.

The urge to fuck, fuck, _fuck that smug sow and pump her tight with cum_ had peaked, then ebbed, _thrice_ by the time Daiki had fished the infuser out of Lady Doremy’s now-ready tea. The flashy, silver-lipped cup clinked and clattered precariously atop its saucer while the rabbit boy carried it to his master’s friend on wobbly feet. When the Ruler of Dreams extended her hands to receive it, Daiki squeezed his eyes shut so as not to picture those well-manicured fingers gripping and roughly milking his impatient, precum-leaking dick. His cleverest precautions were spoiled the moment Lady Doremy’s hands slid under and softly cupped his own… before pinching the saucer daintily by the edges, and removing it from the Moon rabbit’s tenuous hold.

Daiki staggered back, eyes flying open. A rogue fantasy – wherein he lay on the nearby bed while the maddening woman jerked him off to a ruined orgasm, and then kept doing so, using his semen as lube, smiling enigmatically all throughout – was ousted by the sight of Lady Doremy dropping a large cube of sugar into her tea. Then another. And one more. And two again. And then, unsated by even this much, she scanned for something else lengthwise the table.

Something which, it was turning out, was somehow not in evidence.

Lady Doremy looked therefore to the trembling Daiki, and asked the rabbit servant in a high, expectant voice:

“… Milk?”

More than a little high-strung, Daiki cast as well around the busy, cluttered tabletop for anything resembling a pitcher or a jug. Save the kettle, there were none. Only cakes and treats and sugar for days – or _nights,_ as it were. The Moon rabbit swallowed, hard. His thoughts flittered between his instincts as a servant and those of a virile male presented with a voluptuous female. Somewhere in the middle, the confused consensus was forged that Lady Doremy was anyway unlikely to let him mount and fuck her _without_ he first paid adequate service to her idiosyncrasies. And even if Daiki felt a step away from taking the proverbial swim in the Sea of Tranquillity, all the same – a few rational excuses weren’t that big of a sacrifice for the chance to fill up that round belly with something other than sweets.

“I—I don’t see any m—milk, Lady Doremy,” he mumbled, courageously. “M—Maybe they didn’t, um, set out any?”

The hungry Ruler of Dreams tossed her head in exasperation. “Then _get me_ some, bunny boy. Goodness!”

“Um… Where?”

Lady Doremy fixed him with a scalding, provocative stare. “ _Improvise,_ ” she suggested, tapping a finger on her proud nose. “This is _your_ dream now, yes? Have I not told you? Has that not yet passed that cute, thick head of yours yet? Think. _Adapt,_ bunny boy. Now… _Milk,_ ” she stressed, “won’t you _please?_ ”

Daiki’s mouth dried up in a flash. He blinked. Once. Then a couple more times in addition. Lady Doremy kept staring up at him, hotly. The invisible ground, substantial until now, all of a sudden seemed very eager to slide out from under his feet. His ears were hot. And then, not helping any, his dick was the hardest and most excited it had been since Lady Sagume had tried to take it into her snug throat, during her first blowjob. Somewise – though not very wise – the thought occurred that, were Lady Doremy to attempt the same, the lush woman could swallow his cock – lock, stock and barrel – without the tiniest inconvenience. Then, Daiki fancied in his distraction, he could pour his warm “milk” straight down her greedy, insatiable stomach.

The idea took like fire to his frazzling reason; and, at the end of his wits, the Moon rabbit Daiki gave in to the instincts which Lady Doremy had stirred into a hurricane with hardly ever an effort.

With a single, giddy, all too well-known motion, the horny Moon rabbit tugged down the zipper of his trousers, and extracted his hard manhood from its humid, stuffy prison.

Surprise swam across Lady Doremy’s face, chased by a glint of hunger, as her sapphire eyes worked over the length of Daiki’s stiff, upright cock. Veiny, bulging, sticky from both sweat and precum, the sight of it alone had the smug woman at a momentary loss for words. When it throbbed, obligingly, under her scrutiny, Lady Doremy’s full lips were cracked ajar – as if she were contemplating sliding them down the rabbit boy’s erection then and there. Only then, with a wrinkle of her nose, she smacked them close and swallowed – so hard, as to be audible. Daiki hadn’t to guesswork why; the thick, pungent scent of his arousal was worming past even his racing senses. Where Lady Doremy’s nose was – down below, less than ten inches away from the oozing source – it had to be _overpowering._

Though, there was no further hint of it causing her any discomfort when the dreamy woman laid both her palms flat on his thighs, and walked her seductive gaze up the rabbit’s cock, his stomach, chest, and then at last his flurried face. A loose, promiscuous grin broke out on her mouth, which Lady Doremy schooled quickly into an expression of teasing disapproval.

“And what am I,” she asked, greatly exaggerating each word, so that every syllable crashed on the underside of Daiki’s hard-on, “supposed to do with _this thing,_ bunny boy?”

A dozen indecent things suggested themselves at once. Daiki, using of weeks and weeks of practice under Lady Sagume’s care, willed them all down – for the while. “You—” he began – choked at the attention Lady Doremy was lavishing on him – then began anew. “You, um, rub it. A—And then milk comes out.”

“Aah,” crooned Lady Doremy. “Is that so?”

“Um—” Daiki gulped. “… Yes.”

The plush Ruler of Dreams inclined her head, peeked down at his dick, then up again – almost as though she weren’t quite sure if she was being led on. “… And, I suppose me,” she speculated, in a leery tone, “that I shall have to… _rub it out_ myself, as well? With these soft, unstained hands? I am royalty of this world, bunny boy. Or did you perhaps forget?”

“Y—You may use your m—mouth, Lady Doremy,” stammered Daiki. “Um. With respect.”

“Aha, now _that_ is rich!” she sneered. “You would have me put my lips around _this_ filthy thing? And then, I feature, you would have me slide them all the way to the bottom? Scrub it all over with my tongue? Suck on it while I slowly pull off, up to the very tip, slurping up whatever leaks out? Would you _really,_ bunny boy? And what next? Would you force me to my knees? Make me go down on this fat cock of yours like a candy cane? Would you _grab my ears_ and _stare into my eyes_ as you cram yourself balls-deep down my throat? Things with you boys, I have gathered, _rarely_ stay so simple once you begin having fun.”

Daiki’s dick gave an ecstatic throb at the idea of being stuck down Lady Doremy’s sweet, slimy throat. A glob of fresh, clear precum beaded out at the tip, soon to dribble down the sloping length, all under the plump woman’s unswerving gaze. The Ruler of Dreams gave the helpless Moon rabbit a long, scalding and unabashedly hungry look.

“… Tell me this, bunny boy,” she finally said. “Were you truly about to give me my milk, here? Or did you, perhaps, simply want to _fuck my mouth_?” The three obscene words slammed into Daiki’s gut like the butt of an Eagle Ravi’s rifle. Lady Doremy’s replying smile was cruelty mixed with sportive amusement. “And now is the rabbit out of the hat!” she snickered. “Shame, shame, shame. Whatever became of those well-drilled manners of yours, bunny boy? Hmm? Where are those stiff bows and furtive glances? Or is this how you young bucks get your rocks off? Show older ladies your erect cocks, and trick them into giving you oral sex? So, so naughty. When a _good servant_ wants a blowjob,” she scolded, almost at a whisper, “he _asks for it_ prettily. Get me, bunny boy?”

“Um—” Daiki mumbled.

“Say it,” demanded Lady Doremy. “After me, bunny boy. ‘I want to fuck your mouth, Lady Doremy. I want to ram it down your throat and hear you choke. Can I please get your perfect lips around my fat, insolent dick?’”

Something inside Daiki’s swollen head went _pop!_ Without one thought in further, with no more self-restraint to draw on, the Moon rabbit breathed in to scream out his seething desires.

“I—I want to fuck your face, Lady Doremy!” he whimpered. “I want to ram it down your throat! I want to hear you choke, and…!”

“And what, bunny boy?”

“And—” choked out the rabbit, “And then, I want to… I want to roll you around, bend you over the table, and s—stick my dick inside you!”

Understanding washed across Lady Doremy’s face, softening her features. “Aah,” she said. “So, you want to _fuck me_ – in the more archetypical meaning.”

“Y—Yes,” surrendered the Moon rabbit, ears crumpling down the sides of his head. “I want to. I want to fuck you, Lady Doremy. I want to make you pregnant.”

“Shall we be clear on this, bunny boy? You want to take this fat cock—” here, the Ruler of Dreams regarded said cock with pitying eyes, “—and push it all inside me? Up against my royal womb?”

“… Yes.”

“You want to mate with me? You want to pump me full of your bunny spunk?”

“Yes!”

“You want to creampie the _Ruler of Dreams?_ ” chided Lady Doremy. “You want to knock her up? To make her carry your half-breed babies? The empress of this infinite realm?”

“Yes—” Daiki whined, “—please!”

“ _Aaah—_ ” the woman’s sweet breath swept around the rabbit boy’s precum-slick shaft, “but we are of disparate species, you and I. A Moon rabbit on one side, a dream-eating _baku_ opposite… Tell me, bunny boy. Would that ever take? Could I even _get_ pregnant, do you feature? Or was that, too, but a poor pretext? An excuse to have your dick serviced by me? Me, who stands so far above your means, my _speaking to you alone_ expedites any and all protocol? Would you have me climb the table and spread my legs for you, like a common whore?”

“ _Nnghyes!_ ” rattled out Daiki. “Yes, _please!_ ”

“And then? What? Stretch myself wide, so you may see how pink, wet and ready I am? Take this sloppy dick into my hand and guide the tip inside me?”

“Yes!”

“Hold your hands while you slide yourself up to my baby room? Kiss you like a lover the moment you bottom out?”

“YES!”

“Wrap my legs around you as you cum? Lick your ears while you pump your thick, sticky load up into my womb?”

“ **YES!** ” cried Daiki. “PLEASE, LET ME FUCK YOU, LADY DOREMY!”

“Aah—” sighed Lady Doremy. “Too bad.”

And then, precluding even so little as a parting glance, the capricious Ruler of Dreams slid her hands from his thighs, and backed away from the rabbit’s pulsing, anxious erection.

There was a keen sensation of some dense, heavy _thing_ dropping down the pit of Daiki’s stomach. All at once, his lower body went cold – in the absence of Lady Doremy’s sultry breath – and then hot again – with scalding disappointment. Clenching up from neck to toes, the rabbit boy matched the woman’s coquettish, upturned gaze – throttling a deep, frustrated scream boiling up from his chest. Never before had the Moon rabbit felt _this_ thoroughly foiled. Never before… except, maybe, when he had almost gotten Lady Sagume to straddle him in his billet, and the chair had collapsed underneath him. Countless instances of the quiet goddess riding atop him since had never erased the niggling curiosity. What would it have been like to penetrate Lady Sagume then and there? What would it have been like to fuck and cum inside the rabbits’ cherished goddess in the flimsy privacy of his quarters? How would Lady Sagume have handled walking back to her chambers in the Lunar Palace with her womb full of sticky, rabbit sperm? Daiki had never lived out this dangerous fantasy… even if he had indulged discrete _parts_ of it near on to every night.

To be denied Lady Doremy’s full, sensual lips now was almost as galling as it had been to hear Lady Sagume speak to Fate while seconds away from penetrating her. The Moon rabbit poured his hate forth in a glare that may have been fierce… if it hadn’t been also desperate for its target to put her mouth around his dick after all. The Ruler of Dreams – certainly the ruler of Daiki’s dreams at present – merely smiled down his facial gymnastics – opting, instead, to explain away why her throat would not be stuffed with Moon rabbit cock any time soon.

“My tea,” she told him, “is getting tepid, bunny boy. And, believe when I promise: I shall _not_ have it without milk.”

* * *


	3. Akyuu’s Dog Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akyuu rides a male Wolf Tengu while riding the Moriya rope-way. For research, of course.

In Summer, a thinker once said, you may reach right up and touch the sky. From where Hieda Akyuu was sitting, “right up” seemed an infinity away.

It _was_ , however, indubitably Summer. The time when _Gensokyo_ was the warmest. When fairies were rife and shaved ice overpriced. The time of flipflops and memories. From where Hieda Akyuu was sitting, she was apt to make another pleasant one. The wind-blessed cabin of the Moriyan ropeway creaked around her as if in quiet concurrence. The young mistress of the Hieda clan cracked a mischievous smile.

Then, with deliberate slowness, she lowered her nude hips. The Wolf Tengu guard, prone underneath her on the aerial cabin’s floor, let loose a canine growl. It rolled into a helpless whine as Akyuu’s swollen labia peeled back the skin sheath of his glans and wrapped flush around his most sensitive part. There was a slight hitch in resolve as the _youkai_ ’s cock slid farther in and nudged the vulnerable spot on the front wall of her vagina, but nothing Akyuu couldn’t mask with a girlish titter. The Wolf guard clenched his jaw, his clawed hands creeping under the undone tails of her _kimono_ to paw her adolescent thighs. The young lady returned the favour by palming his exposed abs. They tensed bowstring-taut under her fingertips once she resumed her pussy’s sluggish journey down his erect wolfhood. Slickened by her juices, his precum and the spit from her earlier blowjob, inch after inch of the Wolf Tengu’s stiff shaft followed his glans to vanish between her hungry pussy lips. An inordinate amount of time later, the insertion was complete, and Hieda Akyuu moaned – a deep, throaty moan at least ten years her senior – as her bare crotch came to a welcome rest against his. Her teenage pussy shuddered around the Wolf Tengu’s beastly girth – fresh girl-lube oozing out to join their groins in a sticky, adulterous marriage.

They breathed out explosively while, around their horny selves, the ever-climbing cabin swayed gently in the Summer breeze. At last, Akyuu rallied her mushy thoughts. The sensation of the _youkai_ ’s stiffness filling out her barely pubescent vagina had been enough to make her head go slightly numb, but she was cleverer than to start blindly thrusting her hips in pursuit of the orgasm that’d been dangerously close since the head of his fat dick had ground against her G-spot. Sweaty under her half-uncased _kimono_ , the young mistress of the Hieda drew herself straight atop the supine Wolf. His savage panting told plain what a terrible number her tiny, human pussy had done on his _youkai_ cock. The throbbing bulge it made in her navel was flagrant evidence of the interspecies taboo about to transpire if she moved now.

Akyuu, thrilling at the prospect, eked out a smile that pinned the Wolf’s slitted eyes to hers. “… Well, then?” she asked conversationally. “Care for a description of some sort? How it feels to shove your hard cock balls-deep inside a young, human female? Adjectives, please, if you, _hn,_ can. Otherwise, it’ll be of no help…”

The Wolf Tengu barked a startlingly sardonic laugh. “What—” He choked up as Akyuu’s fingernails scratched his taut musculature. “… What’d you ‘spect me to say, huh, Miss Human?” he asked back. “That it’s nice an’ tight? Lord Tenma’s tits, it is _bloody_ nice and tight. Almost blew right there when ya… when we got to ya…” He trailed off, attention tumbling down her half-denuded front. “… At any rrr—rate,” was his wheezed conclusion, “y’ could stand to grow more hair down yonder. Yah? It’s, what? Almost babyish, smooth an’ bald like that.”

Akyuu’s cheeks coloured. “I shall have you informed, _Mister Wolf,_ ” she shot back, “a proper lady _shaves her down yonder_ when she gets fuzzy. _We_ are not creatures of the forest. And the only _baby_ here, you bad boy, is going to be _yours_ – if you _shush up_ and _answer my deuced questions_. Or would you prefer to knock up my hand, instead?”

That, somewhat contrary to her silly hopes, did shush him up. The feckless Tengu guard zipped his sharp-toothed mouth shut and considered at length the sight of her clean-shaven pussy coddling the meaty base of his shaft.

It had been a lie, though. Hieda Akyuu wasn’t certain herself whether she was old enough to bear, and even were she to go to sleep pregnant today, then the child could as good have been someone else’s. It could’ve been the carter’s, with whom Akyuu had hitch-hiked a ride up to the ropeway terminus: seated on the man’s lap, her panties pulled aside, every pit in the mountain road bouncing her up and down his outrageous, ephebophile cock. Or it could’ve been the courier’s, who this morning had brought her the Lord Tenma’s response to her inquiry and been tractable enough to take a quickie on Akyuu’s office desk in place of a fee. Or perhaps the masseuse’s, with whom Akyuu had booked an appointment for yesterday evening and ended up consenting to a happy ending. None of them had pulled out, in defiance of their initial promises; the carter’s two massive loads were still, as a matter of fact, sloshing around her immature womb, hopeful for a purchase. Akyuu wondered what Mister Wolf would have said, had he but known he was in the midst of a primal competition with another, human male.

He hadn’t been difficult to arouse, either. Hieda Aya’s, her previous incarnation’s secret journal had been on point; Tengu males did turn to putty once the prospect of _mating_ was on the table. At least this one had. Akyuu may picture well the monotony of circling the empty skies above the ropeway day in, day out – checking the cabins for trouble that never came in an empty show of security demanded by the goddess Yasaka. To Mister Wolf’s credence, he’d tried to keep things routine. He’d latched onto the cabin’s window’s outside parapet, posed the tedious “Is err’ting all right, miss?”es and meant very well to move on.

That’d been when Akyuu had dropped, word for word, the same bombshell Aya had saucily described in her personal memoirs.

“A question, actually,” she’d said to the Tengu Wolf. “Tell me, please: have you ever fucked and busted a nut inside a human girl?”

The replying, slack look on his angular features had persevered all throughout Akyuu’s explication. Only after she’d introduced herself as an erotic novelist in search of references had he reluctantly agreed to climb into the cabin and assist her. That reluctance had lasted no longer than Akyuu sitting him down, kneeling between his legs and unlacing his _hakama_. His penis, a grotesque amalgam of human and vulpine pieces, had been hard and ready for action by the time the little writer lady had sprung it out of his stuffy underpants. Once the cock had been in her mouth, the glans enjoying the slimy inside of her cheek, the hesitation had backslid into bravado.

And Akyuu, who hadn’t bought for a moment the threats of naughty girls never returning from the mountain, had slipped her lips off the Tengu’s precum-drooling wolfhood to swallow the excess and sigh:

“Tell me, better, when you are about to cum – so we do not let it go to waste. I am writing an impregnation scene, not a messy fellatio. Very good?”

Once more, Aya’s choice obscenities had struck their mark, smashing aside the Wolf Tengu’s bluster and submitting him – now puppy-tame – to Akyuu’s preparatory oral sex. For a while, she’d gently edged her tentative assistant: letting his doggy cock pop out of her mouth to throb in the warm, Summer air whenever he’d come close, then going down on him again once the near-orgasm had abated. His sturdy wolfhood had been red with fatigue when Akyuu had at last commanded him to lie down and get ready to mate.

And this was where they were now. The young lady Hieda with her hot pussy stuffed to the brim of hard, inhuman cock, and the lucky Tengu guard with the head of said cock pressed up against the mouth of her barely teenage womb. Squirming, breathing their heavy arousal – fighting their own bodies for the sake of flimsy appearances. Almost, and Akyuu would’ve been surprised. There’d been no wealth of doubt in her mind that Mister Wolf would cum the instant he was hilted inside her pussy; the insertion had been so slow and sensual her own thighs were atremble with pleasure. The immorality of the act alone – of copulating with a beast: a _youkai_ – sent insidious, delighted thrills down the pit of her overstuffed belly.

Aya had written it true. It was little better than bestiality. And, feeling Mister Wolf quiver under her bellybutton and tasting him still on her tongue, Akyuu knew this’d not be her last Tengu mate. The contemporary Lord Tenma, come to think of it, was a male as well…

* * *


	4. Hidden Among Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unfinished sequel to [Hidden in Plain Shrine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762433) and [Hidden (Spider) in Bamboo Clinic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762556). The Hakurei Shrine’s mute supplicant enjoys the perverse attentions of the shrine maiden’s guests.

“Three. Two! One! Zero! No-goo!”

The countdown breaks into laughter and triumphant jeers. Someone claps their cheer. The lavender-haired beauty kneeling before me makes a disenchanted sound. Then, with rather an unladylike gag, she hauls her warm, wet mouth up and off of my hard, trembling manhood. A string of precum-laced saliva joins me to her chin for a moment once my glans pops free of her full, sucking lips. Lady Saigyouji fans it away, sighing, before it may drop and stain the porcelain skin of the breasts hanging out ponderously of her undone _kimono._ The arresting, busty mistress of the Netherworld regards me and my dick, both of us standing tall, disgruntled by our defiance.

And then she shrugs her laden, white shoulders.

“Oh, bother,” she supposes. “It is my loss.”

Around us, jibes erupt anew. The dollmaker, Alice Margatroid, sniffs and sips from her glass of plum wine; the vampire, lady Remilia, swaps thorny commentary with the head maid of her estate, the dully-mannered Sakuya. The redhead _Shinigami_ , Komachi, blatantly derides the ghostly noblewoman’s skills while, opposite of her, the flustered Youmu Konpaku attempts in great, drunken vain to excuse her failed mistress. The witch, Marisa Kirisame, chortles and chugs from her own fizzy drink. And beside her, my ward and owner, Reimu, does her dimmest not to glow from self-satisfaction. The recently moved-in _komainu_ , Aunn, nods and smiles her incomprehension. The one thing she has polished to perfection.

Lady Saigyouji takes it in demure stride, wiping her mouth and retreating to her spot on the picnic mat. Only for my eyes is the ravenous, parting look: one that informs me on no debatable wavelength I am but something to be mounted, ridden and milked. If not now then later, under everyone’s sleeping noses. I venture to smile back. Six such looks I have received so far and the number has numbed the probability in my head. Nor to forget, I know they have lied. After all, I am what I am.

I am Zashi. I am the Hakurei shrine’s secret _Zashiki-warashi_ and, at present, the object of a perverse game for a bunch of bored, besotted women of dubious humour.

Midnight breeze strokes my nude body, cooler where I am coated still in the latest contestant’s drool. I prick my chin up – too pleased, really, to press a complaint. Any other night, you may have seen the regular on the Hakurei hill. Another party. Another “nature-viewing” wherein the closest scrutiny belonged to the hops in the drink and the yeast in the cakes. Tonight’s may have fallen not far from the pattern, but… a naked man in the midst of any party is a fair distinguishing feature. As ought to be all the skinned and undone shirts, the varisized breasts on brazen display and the hair trussed up in hasty ponytails to facilitate the dissolute goings-on.

It may… or may not relate to how pleased I feel. The women chatter among themselves, barbs passing high and low, leaving me, the servant, to sweep my attention lengthwise the reception. Happily, I find no tray, plate or pitcher wanting… and so brook it for my focus to wander to the next tastiest thing.

Topless, flushed and tiddly, it is my lovely ward who draws my gaze like a fairy to a cup of hot coffee. Her dark hair tied up, those perky, youthful tits bared to the moonlight, Reimu cuts an erotic dash out of the Summer night. It was she who took and won the game’s opening wager, too; albeit, not to take away the merit, it was Marisa who had caught me refilling the plates, noting to the others (astutely, I thought) that there was, in fact, “a ready man nearby.” Chants of “Take it off! Take it off!” overwhelmed the dams of Reimu’s resistance; and the tipsy shrine maiden did take it off – where “it” proved fast to be my robe, trousers and underpants. The shame of standing in the nude before our excited guests, the innocently curious Aunn in particular, confounded my body: siphoning the blood which should’ve gone to my cheeks entirely where it had no business to be instead. And then, solidifying the flow for good, Marisa crept in from behind to yank her shrine maiden friend’s vest up to her chin.

The women cheered the debauchery; and Reimu, frustrated, pushed her bangs behind her ears… and then slipped her lips down my confused erection.

The guests clustered round, slaking their attentions on my ward’s expert blowjob. Somebody was breathlessly counting down from two hundred. Marisa, ever the imp, played diversionary by grabbing at Reimu’s tits and twirling her nipples; nothing, however, could have hindered the long usance and training Reimu had had with my dick since her teenage years. I came ahead the count reached ninety: my lovely owner’s tongue, lips and the menacing, upward glare conspiring with the feelings of exhibitionism to wring out of me the pitifully premature orgasm. Something about it still must’ve gone my ward’s way; no sooner had my hips begun to judder in helpless pleasure than Reimu plucked me out of her mouth – stuffed me between her breasts – and launched into a stream of smug “I told you so”s at the gawkers-on.

I was wised to what it was she had told them, even as I pumped Reimu’s cleavage full of warm, sticky seed. And the other women, wrong-footed by their own assumptions, sought then to prove themselves in the same feat.

The rest, as they say, was history. And one public blowjob after another.

None have bested Reimu in the allotted time. I look from my sexy ward to the reserved miss Alice who went next: her shoulder-length hair in a ponytail and impressive bust draped from above by a lacy capelet. Hers proved a furious, sucking _monster_ of a blowjob the like a weak-bodied recluse should never have been able to perform. It did not pop me. I glance toward the flat-chested, blustering Youmu, who slipped off her white, bear-print panties and jerked me off with those rather than her mouth. To no avail. I lap my appreciative eyes all over Komachi’s natural, drooping, dark-tipped breasts, between which I was coaxed with soft, sweet release but refused to give. I smile at lady Remilia, her prepubescent body intimate to me, and who cunningly commanded her maid take the turn and then her own immediately afterwards. Twice the length, Sakuya’s slow, methodical oral sex failed to deliver still… even if I am ill like to forget those elegant breasts stretching and swaying below her as she ministered to my hard dick. Marisa meets my scrutiny, cupping one of her cute, petite titties for my entertainment – understanding passing between us that the witch went easy on me only for the sake of her best friend. At last I peer the way of lady Saigyouji: her breasts plump, paper-white and, despite the closeness in statures, even heftier than the massive bust of Yami – the fake nurse I met (and possibly gotten pregnant) during my loan to the clinic, _Eientei_. The ghostly mistress of the Netherworld deepthroated me professionally, seeming to have no gag reflex whatsoever, yet ran over the time ahead she could taste a _Zashiki-warashi_ ’s special sauce.

Aunn, I do not dare face.

On balance, though, I cannot object to the treatment… and neither does my glistening pride down below. The women and girls of my ward’s trust are a feast for more than the eyes; two minutes of each pushing their charms on, under and all the way down my length was twenty too few. Slighted as a man may be – being passed around in a demeaning bet – I cannot pretend to be one. Nor can I pretend no craving for a second such round. I ogle the immature lady Remilia, whom I may have given an hour-long fuck on the shrine’s porch one starry night but have yet to see debase herself with her highborn lips pressed to my dick. Then, too, I leer at the scarcely riper Youmu, wishing quite the opposite: to bury my tongue where those childish panties were returned after coming off of my precum-leaking hard-on. I want to touch and feel how stiff those little, pink nipples of hers have gotten from handling my manhood.

As well, I spare a loyal peek at my beautiful shrine maiden ward… yet find the architect of my towering erection too self-absorbed a winner to peek back.

I’ve half a mind to do something which would leave her no choice – and her lips spread in a perverse O.

The big-titted, merry _Shinigami_ diverts my possessive instincts by waving me over; her glass has run dry, and the lazy redhead tips it at me for a refill. Scooping up a pitcher of wine, I scooch over to the _Shinigami_ – kneel – and receive from her the wanting glass. Sooner than I’ve a quarter of it scrupulously poured, however, Komachi smiles and leans toward me, going on all-fours. Only the lessons of recent exercise stay me from bucking once her loose-lipped mouth wraps around my cooled, yet persistent erection. The moist warmth enveloping me feels nigh-on scalding after the nightly air; Komachi intensifies its distraction by hugging my dick’s underside with her tongue as she plunges lower and lower my rigid length. The pitcher and the glass rock precariously in my grip when my bare, tender glans wedges in between, then passes her tonsils. Komachi’s gullet clenches around me: so hot and so tight that breath is pinched out of my chest. The lazy _Shinigami_ pushes on, swallowing more and more of my throbbing shaft, until her sloppy face is buried in my trimmed groin.

Somehow, I top off her glass. Afterwise which, a woefully shaken pitcher is replaced on the ground. I breathe in implosively then pat the relieved hand down between Komachi’s twin, jaunty pigtails. The _Shinigami_ purrs around my stuck girth: the soft vibrations causing my dick to flex and pulse in the hot, wet clutches of her throat.

The spontaneity of it, the pressure on my stiffness and Komachi’s nosing in my damp crotch blur the more conscientious of my thoughts. Grasping the redhead’s neck-length hair, I tow her sucking, clinging mouth up my throbbing shaft. Saliva and precum bubble out on Komachi’s lips: a syrupy, white mess, runnier the more of it my exiting dick scoops out of her stuffed gullet. To the very tip, she accords me no mercy; and it is with a distressing, delightful cramp in my loins that I pop out of the _Shinigami_ ’s adulterous mouth, spattering her face with our intermixed fluids. Komachi’s chin dribbles the worst of it – some trickling down the slopes of her huge, dangling, pendulous breasts. The breasts are a sight themselves; enormous and unbridled, they sag nearly to a teardrop-shape between her slim arms: their dark, vulgar tips grazing the picnic mat once somebody begins to drag the ferrywoman back by the loosed collar.

Komachi coughs up a saliva-thick titter and snatches the glass from my wobbly hand before they can haul her away. The intervening “they” turning out to be a concerned Aunn.

“That’s not safe,” chides the dutiful _komainu_. “Not good, miss Onozuka.”

“‘S fine, girl, fine!” laughs Komachi, flumping onto her seat. “Our man’s got a steady bod. He wasn’t going to _spill._ ”

Aunn tweaks her head of curly, seafoam-green hair left and right. “That’s not it, ma’am.”

The buxom _Shinigami_ smirks the implications away. I cannot in any conscience, good or bad, do the same… because I am suddenly and grislily aware of the encircling stares and their overt point. Me – and the sorry state in which Komachi has left my critical piece. On comes a consternated moment when the women of my ward’s inner circle debate in their private minds how best to decry the overbold _Shinigami_ without their own envy showing. Marisa is the one who speaks before anybody, hers apparently an even faster puffed-up chest than lady Remilia’s juvenile one.

“… Second go, then?” she proposes, mock-diplomatically. “Hey, Reimu? You A-OK with us molestin’ him some more?”

My topless ward, nose in a dish of _sake_ , ekes out a tiddly shrug. “I’ve already won,” she points out. “You can do what you like; Zashi can take you all on.”

I flush, the vote of confidence very nigh smoothing over the jealousy for my owner conferring me willy-nilly. Then again, I should be lying and not a _Zashiki-warashi_ if I claimed not a fair wealth of enjoyment from it. Since catching out her witch companion on kneading out a botched love potion’s effects with my dick, my dearest Reimu has nursed an opener streak toward her guests’ more or less covert use of my body. Marry to it the fact no visit of Marisa has since gone precluding us, at a minimum, stripping down to give one another a sexy rub-down, and I might figure my shrine maiden ward has discovered a like for seeing me endure other women’s attentions.

None of whom, of course, can ever beat me more soundly than she.

Any way I colour – pink or green – Marisa stamps her friend’s permit with a pervy grin. The half-undressed guests share in it with varied, yet invariably positive enthusiasm. I feel a tingle in the pit of my stomach. Silently, I renew my oath to my shrine maiden owner… but can’t deny I am looking forward to this. My dick stiffens, concurring.

“… Ahead we settle’n the order, though,” Marisa overtakes the roused suspense, “sorry, I _must_ know. Always been seein’ Alice here catcalled whenever in town—” the witch nudges the other, blond magician, who acknowledges the charge but wards it off with a roll of her blue eyes, “—but a _Shinigami_?” finishes Marisa. “Thought you folks worked with stiffs ‘n deaders alone. Where in Hell d’ you get off on suckin’ a man off like that?”

Komachi, who has been cleaning the spill-over from her slumping tits with a wine-dabbed kerchief, snorts at the witch’s indelicate query. “The New Capital, duh,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Hell may be Hell, girl, but the on-highs take every pain to make their workhorses unbribable. We’ve establishments in there what ensure no crafty soul can skip the lines with, say, a promise of hanky-panky to some lonelier clerk or Kishin. I part-time at one of those.”

“And has perhaps your _Yama_ heard,” chimes in lady Yuyuko, mischief silvering her voice, “that she hires a _prostitute_?”

At her side, the humble Youmu covers her mouth in shock. All which Komachi does, however, is give the Netherworld’s mistress a ribbing smile. “A _civil servant,_ administrator,” she corrects. “The ferryin’s my main gig, and dull as milady Shiki’s undies, but the other one’s full on legal, too. Clients are nice, the tab’s paid, souls are greased, the bureaucracy gets theirs. What’s there to fault?”

“Sounds like Hell all right,” comments lady Yuyuko.

“Still pays that tab,” reminds Komachi, very seriously. “Hell likes naught like its golden blood flowing. Should wonder ‘bout you, though, administrator,” she swivels the question onto its asker. “What I heard, you died woefully young. Yeah? That’s right ahead a pretty much instant consignment to _Hakugyokurou_ , too. Yet there you were, wringing our man-of-the-hour like a champ. Studied the bed-top arts early, or…?”

“Trained on hapless cucumbers?” guesses lady Yuyuko. “Oh, please. Those go into _food._ No. It is a merit of my… previous gardener having nary an ounce of tact in his head. A mountain of skill, that man was, withal a mountainous libido in the same chain. Schooled me very long… very deeply… very well. My Youmu, also. Stole her maidenhead even, I believe. Youmu?”

The _Hakugyokurou_ ’s current, beet-red gardener shrinks beneath her liege’s impelling gaze – the alcohol-fuelled confidence evaporating through her ears. “Ye—Yes, my lady Yuyuko,” she stammers at length, obedient even so. “It is so. Master Youki did, um, take my first time. _Hic_.”

“As well as a hundred hundreds of others into the bargain,” sighs the ghostly woman. “Our Youki had what I fear is called an indiscriminating taste. A legacy, I apprehend, my dear Youmu has taken up. How many times I have sniffed this girl coming home from _Gensokyo_ and she reeked of an old man – or several – you may never believe.”

Youmu spits the drink meant to drown her shame. “M—M—My lady Yuyuko?!”

“True all,” argues her ruthless mistress. “Or need I remind you of that evening you returned missing your unmentionables, and you _dripped_ the whole way to the—”

“Need not!” Youmu’s blush reaches nearly down to her budding breasts. “I do w—what I do! I admit! Can we not, _hic,_ tagabuddit?”

“Mighty fine to have a type, girl,” Komachi chips in. “Older guys can be… cool? Usually know what they’re doin’, at least.”

“Can! We! Not!”

Chuckling like a bell, lady Yuyuko pardons her servant from the speeding rumour mill, directing the wit – and her pale, plump bust – at Sakuya. “And I do presume me,” she coyly supposes, “it should be more foolish yet to ask of a maid whether this also constitutes her duties? Hmm?”

Sakuya, called to attention, sketches a seated curtsy, those moderate, sharp-peaked titties tucked out of her maid’s dress’s front bobbing along. “My noble lady Remilia,” she explains, “prefers for her trysts to last. I take it therefore upon myself to prepare her male solicitors… in a manner preventing those trysts falling, as it were, short. With the appropriate tools.”

“You mean—”

“Oral sex, handjobs, footjobs, titfucks, intercrural,” Sakuya reels off, quick and straight as a dagger. “Men are always weak to one of these. Or all. I am not a prostitute, however; I do not _copulate_ with our guests. That honour, I cede to mistress Remilia.”

The vampire lady, side-saddled next to her maid, makes a piqued toss with her head. Nothing much bounces along here but the leathery wings folded on her nude back. “Sakuya,” she says, warning. “I recall very distinctly the produce supplier a month ago taking the sweetest time with you in the larder. What have you to say of that?”

“We were counting the tomatoes, my lady,” Sakuya replies placidly.

“Your moans were heard by fairies all over the ground floor.”

“Many tomatoes, my lady. My throat got sore.”

“And your clothes?” probes Remilia. “They were a mess when you walked him to the gate. Meiling told me.”

“The porter had slipped, my lady. Crushed tomatoes, see?”

“And fell right on you?”

“He did, my lady. Kept slipping, too. Clumsy man.”

Remilia _pfff_ s. “And just how many times did you come while he was slipping so, Sakuya?”

“Twice, mistress.”

“Amazing.”

“He was, mistress.”

The tiny vampire shoots her maid a hot look. Sakuya deflects it instead to the eavesdropping witch.

Marisa, sensing the expectation, perks up on her cushion. “What? My turn?”

An innocent smile dimples the maid’s perfect cheeks. “Unless you mean to tell us that was all book knowledge…?”

The black-white witch (with cream and pink presently added in) mulls the answer. “… Well, apart from this stallion,” she says then, glancing the (in)appropriate way, “when I was a wee bit younger and couldn’t chop firewood so well, I used t’ mooch off of and freeload at Kourin’s a lot.”

“The… curio shop proprietor?” Sakuya conjectures.

“Wot you swindled a while back, yeah,” confirms Marisa, not a tone of shame underlying. “Any rate, there really ain’t much y’ can do when you’re snowed in with a guy and already burned through all the books, so…”

“How romantic.”

The blond witch smiles her false modesty. “Although,” she admits, “since he’d staunchly not do anything could get me with child, what on account of knowin’ my da, I had to rein in my buckin’ mules. So-o, I got really, _reeeally_ good at suckin’ his cock instead.”

“How… romantic?” Sakuya supposes.

“Then Alice found me that recipe for kava love elixir.”

“Oh.”

Marisa chuckles at the maid’s unhorsed expression. “Well, it wasn’t! Turned out, the thing was bogus. Or maybe alchemists of yore were jus’ too shut-in to tell the difference ‘tween love an’ rut. That’s a theory. Anyhow, younger me, she didn’t test it whatsoever, jus’ straight dropped a pinch in Kourin’s tea the same evenin’. Nothin’ cropped at first but then, _hoo-hoo-wee!_ ” she laughs. “After we’d shut off the lights, wasn’t half an hour I was lying in bed when Kourin stumbled into my room. He asked if I were asleep, an’ when I kept quiet, he threw my blankets, peeled down my bloomers, propped my butt on a pillow, pulled his cock out and fucked me then and there. Kourin’s half- _youkai_ , too, so the elixir lasted for hours and hours. Most orgasms I’ve ever had in one night. Sorry,” she levels the final statement at my relevant parts.

Sakuya blinks her astonishment away, drawing on some unseen reserve of responsibility. “And you didn’t get… with child?”

“Sod if I had,” Marisa says wryly. “Come on, miss tomatoes; I wasn’t _daft_ , jus’ a callow alchemist. Was the safest day of the month I done it. Only got more’n I bargained for, is everything. That pillow _never_ washed out, though,” she snickers. “Could’ve been a second Marisa for all your nose knew.”

“… Terrible,” Sakuya says with a sharp intake of breath. “Sidelights on gullible storeowners aside, however,” she moves on, “were you not ordained to _settle_ something for us, Marisa? An _order_ of some variety?”

“Aah,” says Marisa. “Yeah. Yeah, I was. Humm.”

Then, the witch turns her lecherous eyes on me. Then, so does the rest of the part-disrobed guests.

A lesser _Zashiki-warashi_ may shrivel before so much attention: so many predatory eyes, so many feminine charms… yet not I. I, Zashi, who gave the mightiest woman in the realm, the Hakurei shrine maiden, hands-on lessons in child-making when she was but a precocious teen, cannot avail myself of such comforts. I need to stand tall: for Reimu, for myself… and this, I do.

And, oblivion… I want this. I want Sakuya’s diligent service. I want Yuyuko’s depthless throat and Youmu’s dainty, calloused hands. I want to hear the reticent miss Alice gurgle again around my dick. I want lady Remilia’s lips all over me. I want Komachi’s seasoned mouth – and to see her pigtails _bounce._ I want Marisa, the cheat, to throw pretences to the wind and blow me with her usual intensity. A _Zashiki-warashi_ may have made Reimu into a woman… yet it was the woman who turned the _Zashiki-warashi_ into an incorrigible lech. My hard-on grows even tauter, veins popping out, the mere thought of these ladies’ mouths having their way with me enough to bead precum out of my tip.

The nudity which unnerved me earlier, I now find only magnifies the warm mugginess between my ears. I promise myself to see at a later date whether Reimu will feel the same.

“… So-o,” cracking the tension, Marisa speculates aloud, “reverse order, then? Startin’ with Yuyuko there? Komachi shifted to last, since she already had a go?”

“Why not get him off first?” The stares as one snap to Reimu, who chases the advice with a calm sip of her _sake._ “… What?” she says, noting the silence. “He’ll last longer if you do. You’ve already done him a number; Komachi damn near capped him off, there. I’ve _known_ that grimace. Anyway. Want a fair comp? Get him off, let him rest, start afresh. _Capiche?_ ”

“… Speaking from experience?” jibes Sakuya, for want of anybody else’s comments.

My lovely owner sketches a shrug. “A lot of it,” she replies, blunt as a wrecking bar. “Trust me.”

“So, er, who—” miss Alice begins from the conversational flank.

“He’s not a doll, Alice,” Reimu rides her over. “He may not talk—”

“—an’ be sculpted like a Buddha,” Marisa puts in from the side.

“… That,” acknowledges my topless owner; “but he does have meat under that dome. Have him pick. You’ll pick, won’t you? Zashi?”

Seven pairs of eyes… and about half as many sets of breasts… present to me their unspoken offerings. I regard my liberal ward for a while more: at once jealous and luridly grateful. My _Zashiki-warashi_ heart thumps under my jaw.

Then, on the precipice of sexy surplus, I make my pick. And like finds itself attracted to like.

Stares and saucily exposed busts trail after my motions as I clear for myself a space out of the surrounding plates, bottles, snacks and sunflower seed shells littering the mat. Skilled mouths wonder at one another whatever for. I snicker under my breath, unconvinced for a moment they hadn’t the very same idea since the beginning – yet indulge the pretend intrigue. Truth is, as its wont goes, by half more selfish. If I can choose, then I am not above fine-tuning the situation to my fancies. Yami’s pudgy belly has (I’d love to believe) by now something to say for it; and if I’ve the pick from among noblewomen, gods of death, samurai and magicians… then it is to my closest peer where those fancies retreat. The maid to my manservant. The only one who has _not_ sized me up like a piece of meat behind my owner’s back. Something even Youmu, in her drunken bravado, did not spare me.

A pity for _her_ pity, I _am_ this piece of meat. A simple, perverted _zashiki-warashi_.

Sakuya’s lips pop ajar in mock surprise once I recline in my nested spot and extend to her a beckoning hand. Thwarted moods flare up among the partygoers; from lady Saigyouji’s sardonic “Oh, my~,” through Komachi’s “Give me a break, really?” to Marisa’s “Traitor, Zashi! Hoot!” they lampoon my unforeseen bent. Sakuya alone keeps her own counsel; barefoot, she stands up to pick her way across the mat to my side. The sway of her hips and the sight of her gartered thighs rubbing together bulge my throat – further convincing me of my choice. I remember myself – ironic, I know – and catch the maid’s wrist just as she makes to sit down beside me and my bolt-upright pride.

A moment’s perplexity, and she follows my pointed tug: reseating herself astride my naked lap. My hard-on snags the skirts of her uniform as Sakuya’s firm, warm butt touches down: inches from where it would’ve snagged altogether something else.

The maid’s lips flash a predatory smile. Gone even if it soon is, I feel its full, blood-pumping effects underneath the tent I’m pitching in her skirt. Sakuya, leaning forward, lays her palms on my stomach, letting her gorgeous tits to droop like they did while she was sucking me off. An aftershock of those lips methodically shining my whole length rocks my fuzzy thoughts. Here is a devious woman who, accorded twice the opportunity of her rivals, focused on acquainting her tongue with every vein and bump on my dick over swifter victory. Komachi’s throat may have tortured me near to bursting, yet even earlier it was Sakuya who edged me with skilful deliberation. To give me the discreet maximum of pleasure without denying me the remaining two contestants’ service. The unperturbed, even sportive look she wore once my still-hard dick had finally withdrawn from her mouth should have been telling.

This maid may indeed not be fucking her master’s guests… which doesn’t mean she is above doing to them _every other_ perverse thing in the book.

I feel for… and envy… any man taken for a lover by lady Remilia. Sakuya’s lips would be an intense alarm clock to wake up to every day.

All told, it is good that my midnight marathon with the vampire was not, after everything was said and done, a binding one. Overwhelmingly because I don’t mean at all to stop at Sakuya’s lips.

I skim a hand up the maid’s thigh, under her uniform’s lacy skirt and then around her shapely, mature ass. Once more, her not-so-secret proclivities rear their heads; and I find nothing except her bare, pantiless bottom filling my grateful palm. It fights my fingers, the springy flesh pushing back against my efforts to reel her onto my stiff pole. Only when I reach in with the spare hand and slap the top end of said pole on her nude groin does Sakuya appreciate what it is I mean to do with her in front of everybody else. And, smiling ever-so-faintly in cahoots, she reorients her hips to facilitate just that. I needn’t do much but drag my precum-slick dick down and then under the maid’s unseen crotch to feel out her loose entrance.

A nudge, and Sakuya’s warm petals enfold my swollen tip. Another – and her hot, startlingly wet pussy plummets with ease down the arch of my shaft.

Sakuya drops her hips on mine, no qualms spared in hilting me inside her honeyed womanhood. I grit my teeth. The gruelling pleasure of her folds scrubbing my defenceless glans causes my toes to curl and my breath to flee. All the feelings of exhibitionism, all the blowjobs, deepthroats, panty handjobs and titfucks of bygone minutes clock in all at once with my overstressed dick. I want this to last. I want to drag it out across the hour; I want to learn the weakest spots inside her pussy and give them a harsh massage while rewarding myself with kisses from her womb.

All that happens is I buck… and come like a pubescent boy having his first sex.

* * *


	5. To Fill 2 Plates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfinished sequel to [To Fill a Plate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763180).

The din of battle rages on beyond the alleyway’s mouth. The first religious war of Gensokyo quakes the town’s roofs and heads. I am deaf to its sounds beneath the roaring of blood in my ears. Stewing in excitement and fear of discovery, I drive my hips harder up at the petite, silver-ponytailed woman I am pinning to the alley’s grimy wall. Until our groins meet half-way: mine – shaggy as Gensokyo’s thickest shrub, and hers – smooth and bare as a new-born’s. The familiar, warm, roomy depths of her vagina hug wetly around my erection as my precum-slick glans reunites with the unprotected entrance of her womb.

Upturned eyes and a geisha’s smile on her old-moded lips, the Scourge, Mononobe Futo, gives a crooning voice to her thoughts.

“ _Nn._ Heyday,” she coos, slipping her dainty hands up my sleeves and forearms. “Welcome thee home. Thou _varlet._ ”

“Yeah—” is all I wring out before the sensation of Futo’s palms cupping my elbows wrings _me_ out. “… Yeah. I’m home. You _harlot._ ”

The wanton Taoshi snickers the insult away. “… Hast thou me this sorely missed?” she teases back. “Thy down-yonder stiffer than a spear-haft is…”

Unlike her, I haven’t the flair with which to commentate the state of her own genitals. All my aptitudes comprise at the moment is towing my hastily disrobed hips back, and my cock – out of the Taoshi’s hot, tenderly lovesome depths. Her perky, little clit stands obscenely firm, overseeing where her slick, adolescent labia are clinging to and dragging along my retreating shaft. Sopping wet… doesn’t begin to describe the state wherein it is left after but a stint with her greedy baby-maker. Nor am I without a part in this indecent, inter-species crime. When my glans pops out from between Futo’s moist petals, every beat of the blood roiling in my loins causes a glob of precum to gush from my tip. It merely adds to the dribble of sexual fluids already oozing down Futo’s athletic leg.

Yes. I’ve missed this slutty, little arsonist. A _hitotsume-nyuudou_ ’s knees would never quake so hard from merely penetrating a human woman if _some_ sentiment at least was not involved. I hilt my pulsing, rigid cock again inside the horny Taoshi, the thought occurring I really should’ve fucked her facing me before. That upraised leg, slung clumsily around my waist… the smug, fairylike grin… the upturned, yearning gaze of a female who loves naught more than the taboo fuck she is having… Shackles and chains never once made her look as erotic as she does now. The thick, flowing layers of her formal attire cannot rob her body of its fertile, youthful appeal… even if I _have_ been fingering the ties of her vest for a chance to ogle and pinch her budding tits regardless.

And once frustration swaps those fingers to grasp Futo’s impudently lowered chin, all which the pervert Taoshi does in return is dump wood onto the pyre.

“Fffie,” she dares me around the thumb padlocking her lips. “Thou _haft_ me miffed.”

I growl, jerking my hips back then smacking them into hers, pressing the bare head of my cock to her cervix. “Like hell—”

“Howbeit, I—” Futo purses her tiny lips against my gnarly thumb, “—I have thee _peccant_ missed. _Hn._ ”

If I hadn’t been as brick-red as I already was, I would’ve blushed a fool’s pink.

It was, anyway, a fluke. Neither one of us could foresee the Acharya Hijiri would’ve chosen me to spectate her duel with the Taoist saint in the human town. It was a blessed lot that our gazes met across the battlefield. It was the same that I noticed the small woman making off of it behind the billows of dust and thronged gawkers-at. It was luck that none of my Acharya’s other companions spied me making after the decamping Taoshi.

It was wholly artifice, not coincidence, I am guessing, that I found Futo down a nearby crate-stacked alley, masturbating with verve under her religious uniform’s skirt. As though desperate to be ready. As though preparing her womanhood for my imminent arrival. The thin, daring grin on her teenaged face once I loomed in the alley’s mouth gave me all the corroborating evidence I might need in the court of cross-species relations. Hand on my belt, I answered in one-eyed kind.

Sooner than the next cheer could rise in the streets behind me, I was enjoying Futo’s tight pussy lips gliding along and scrubbing my hard, veiny cock end to end. And even if “out of sight – out of mind” has been the set of our minds these previous months, our bodies remember well the numerous, long-winded sessions of rapacious sex the dainty Taoshi was made to endure in Myouren temple’s – my – disciplining chamber. I rub my glans on the sweetest spots inside Futo’s drenched pussy, hardly trying; and she moans and tightens around me in ways which wring even more precum out of my tip every time I bury myself up to her baby-room. Compatible though we were from our very first time, there is no claiming we _haven’t_ learned to molest each other even further while already having sex. Futo’s fondling and palming of my biceps, I have to assume, being some probative new technique the moons in absence have brought on.

… Has it really been so long? It must have; enough, anyway, that I have grown to expect the sailor ghost, the Nue or the tsukumogami deposited at my basement’s door over the Taoshi slut. And fun though we had, it’d galled me that I hadn’t ever found out what was to be the surprise promised to by Futo upon one of her leaves. I thought I knew what might have stood in its way; I _knew_ I knew, in effect, no later than my disciplining chamber’s door banging open late one evening to admit in a grim cadre of the Acharya’s devout. I was trussed, not unlike my subjects at times, hand and foot to a hardwood chair… and then left in the sole care of the radiant soul who had followed in behind Hijiri’s supplicants. A woman of fair skin and gold-flecked eyes. The one hailed Lord Supreme of the Taoists.

The Crown Prince, Toyosatomimi Miko.

The living saint swept her halcyon gaze lengthwise my dour place of work before vising it, scalding, on my fettered self. And then, flushing warmed blood down my veins, the great Taoist Lord _smiled._

“Worry not,” she assured me, mannered as a priestess after donations. “This visit is… sanctioned. No harm shall come less that which is invited. For me, I require but a simple thing from you, and then free you may go. One trifling thing, chastener. No more.”

“Ye—Yes?” I stuttered. Then, loathing myself, added, “… Lord?”

An admission. That was what she was after. An admission that my lady Acharya had sought, through me, to subvert her prized, silver-maned hound. A word from the supposed accomplice’s mouth – so she may “extract justice.”

“Me—” I swallowed, truth souring on my tongue. “… With Futo? No. No, Lord, I wasn’t set up to—”

“No?” the saint rode me over. Her attentions grew in their heat. “Chastener! Am I to take this for defiance? A cover-up, perhaps, for your vaunted Acharya? _Tut-tut._ Must we play these games? These charades? Or perhaps you would rather I spoke _your_ tongue, _brute?_ ”

Sweat beaded out on my brow. “Lord, I—”

“Oh, mercy, fine!” she declared with a toss of her head. “So be it!”

And then, in presupposed deference to my chamber’s ongoing custom, the golden saint uncased the finely finished skirts of her ensemble.

The regal garment slithered down her smooth, womanly legs, bunching at the sandaled feet. There was nothing underneath to leave aught to my imagination. And, as the sight of her honey-blond bush juddered my Adam’s apple and bulged out the front of my gown, so the Crown Prince leaned down to level with my single eye. A pair of small, demure breasts, each peaked by an elegant, peach-coloured nipple, winked at me from inside the collar of her gold-embroidered vest. As her privates, they too were free to breathe the basement’s thickening air.

A slim, feminine finger flicked out. It could’ve taken the tip of my nose clean off if there it had aimed. Instead, it slashed the knot on my gown’s belt, liberating my swiftly plumping out hard-on. The radiant Crown Prince, bottomless and pantiless, shuffled closer to stand astride my lap like so exquisite a whore, her bared womanhood nearly touching the head of my, by then fully upright, cock.

Once more, she made my blood race: dulcet treachery trickling from her upper lips while the scents of the same wafted from those below.

“Have your heed now, have I?” she chuckled her mirth as I flared my nostrils and savoured her lush femininity. “This body, which used to be male, and now is female _to the core…_ would you claim it also? Would you test its motherly potentials as you did my Futo’s? I may be lesser experienced than she in these matters; but, heed you this – you, who has debauched my once-mentor – that this body, too, now has breasts and a womb, same as hers. Wish you not to conquer them as well? You, of monster-kin? Terror of humanity? Answer me this, the male which you are, for I know your trappings well…”

Truer to those than my lady Acharya would’ve tolerated, the reply mounted my tongue bypassing my loyalties. “… I do. I want to. Lord.”

“ _Confess,_ then,” demanded the golden saint, laying a palm flat on her mons. “Tell me it was Hijiri’s will to seduce my precious companion, and I shall reward you… in here. In a fashion you’ll fain understand.”

“That—” I rattled, straining to touch her with my dick, “That wasn’t… the case, Lord.”

For a trice, the Crown Prince stood stunned. Then, she cooed, “Aah—” a sound so knowing it caused my jaw to set. “So I see, so I see! Your… fealty muddies your recollections, does not it? A most regretful circumstance, yes. Yes, indeed; and most useful for a leader such as Hijiri. Or myself. Shall I, then, stir that mud for you? With, pray, a taste of that which you did to my Futo – and shall miss, should you fail to provide? Very well, you villain. Hold still… is what I’d have commanded you, except, well… I trust Hijiri’s flock to bind a man if nothing else.”

Aforesaid trust proved well placed; and, it did take magical ropes to keep me athwart tearing free while the noble Taoist Lord languidly spread her petals over my poised erection. I clenched my loins, so that it would stand even firmer, as she touched her snug opening to my tip. The silken lips of her royal pussy kissed my glans all over ahead swallowing it up to sample my barbaric shaft.

Then, smoothly and without fear, the radiant tyranness lowered her hips onto my lap.

From her virgin-tight entrance to the mouth of her noble womb, the saint’s pussy was a hot, slippery mess, eager and scrupulous in accepting every last inch of my cock. There were gasps of mutual pleasure and just an opportunity to wonder if she’d meant to fuck me all along – until her ass alighted on my thighs, whereupon she became very curious whether she might grind her sweet spots on my stiffness while topped all the way up to her womb.

Soon, and a deep, ribald moan told me that, just like Futo, she pretty well might.

Gyrating those slim hips, acquainting her vaginal walls with every vein and bump of my aroused length, the Taoist Lord looped her bracelet-hung arms around my neck. “… Now do I see,” she breathed, dignity leaving her voice with every twist and sway of her waist, “I see what it was Futo meant about _girth._ And this _curve._ Hnn. _Haaah._ What a terrific tool you wield, chastener. Why, I pity any virgin who has her standards set by you…”

I thanked her, nodding, meek as I deigned. Inside my binds, however, I nudged my own hips in rhythm with hers, co-opting her motions for my own benefit.

“Mere _fff_ —acts, chastener,” promised the saint. “And _now,_ ” she declared, crisper despite the tip of my cock roughly flirting with her cervix, “are you ready to speak? Shall you profess Hijiri’s perfidy at last?”

I swallowed. “… The answer, Lord,” I said, “remains self-same.”

I knew, of course, it was fire I was toying with. This one, however, Futo’s master contained to the wheat-fields of her piercing eyes. Surrounding them, her noble visage turned sly at my flippant reply.

“Aah—” she cooed once again, “like an anvil unto a hammer. Am I not already having sex with you, chastener? Must I re-enact, _mmn,_ even more with you for you to come around? Where do we draw the line, pray?”

“At… the end?” I hazarded.

“Once I get with child, do you mean?”

The immorality of it – the picture of pumping my _youkai_ seed into the saint’s pure, noble womb – made my cock rear in the hot, wet grip of her pussy. Slaver dribbled down the edge of my mouth, proof of my inattention.

“Yesh—” I slurred. “Yes, please, Lord.”

“And thereupon—” Miko smirked, sitting straighter, ready to bounce her ass up and down on my dick, “—thereupon, chastener, do you swear your oath to me you shall talk?”

I lapped my tongue round my teeth like a starved wolf before giving in, “… ‘Swear it. Hell.”

“So be it.”

So it was.

Merely moments into the bareback ride, I came for the first time: suckling the saint’s erect nipples through the silk of her vest, never announcing the moment I broke so that her pussy would keep tormenting my cumming length as I emptied my load inside her drenched baby-maker. Without a hitch of pause, she rode me from one orgasm to the next, indulging a brief one of her own mid-deed then hanging her head and squirting right onto my lap – while her highborn womb was debased with another spurt of my potent, _youkai_ cum.

My Acharya’s name no longer visited on her treacherous lips; not even when, impassioned, she undid my restraints and climbed the same table where I’d once finger-banged her mentor to present herself to me in the missionary position. I licked her feet and plied her cum-smeared walls with my unsated cock, golden anklets jingling around my ears with every womb-deep thrust I gave her. I sucked her toes and thumbed her clit as I came inside her baby-room yet again; I fucked and fucked and _fucked_ the whorish saint till I could fuck no more… and then crammed my thick fingers into her cum-stuffed lovemaker for a kicking, screaming finale. In the end, she stumbled out of my basement like her hound had before her: weak, dazed and hopelessly, dissolutely pregnant.

Twice more in the oncoming weeks she haunted the temple. Twice more she met nightfall with wet thighs and sticky pubes.

* * *


End file.
